I woke up this morning to a blanket of fog. It engulfed
everything – buildings, lawns, cars, people, cattle and stray dogs. From my 14
th
floor balcony, all I could see was fog. The mister switched on the TV. Out of
habit, he tuned in to a news channel. But unlike every other day, he didn’t switch
to a music channel after checking the highlights. I had my breakfast while
watching the news. It was like looking at a car wreck – hard to look at but
harder to look away from. I couldn’t watch any more. I wolfed down my breakfast and took the elevator down to the basement parking. I switched on the ignition,
let it run for half a minute. I noticed the petrol tank was close to E. I had had
the petrol tank filled to the brim last week. It had cost me 2800 rupees. I drove
to the nearest Magenta Line Metro station. It was business as usual on the
roads. Filling the petrol tank so soon bothered me. I did math in my head for
driving all the way to work versus taking the metro. After all, taking the
metro was temporary – till things got back to … normal. I had the headlights on
high beam. Because of the fog. The blinkers were on too. The parking lot had
more space than usual. I double-checked if the headlight was off. I pet the
puppy in the parking lot. It followed me for some time. Its mother kept an eye on
us from a distance. The lines to enter the station, which extended till metro
station entry usually, were non-existent today. The platform was less crowded
than usual. I got a seat in the metro – it didn’t happen often. The recorded
announcement on the train informed that the metro won’t halt at three stations.
They apologized for the inconvenience. Not many bothered to look up from their
phones to pay attention to the announcement. The woman standing in front of me
told her friend that she would be participating in the protest today. Her
brother was detained yesterday. I wanted to enquire if her brother had made it
back safe, where was he taken for detainment – but I didn’t. The train slowed
down at Jasola Vihar, Jamia Milia Islamia, and Sukhdev Vihar – but didn’t stop.
The platforms at these stations were deserted. I made up a story in my head
that at each station the metro driver wanted to stop the train as a sign of his
protest, but fearing his job – he didn’t. I relinquished my seat to a lady with
a baby. Standing up, I peeked down at the roads. A building in Jamia had a
spray-painted message – Ideas are bulletproof. The buildings and campus in the
Jamia University were empty. There was a scattering of people right outside the
gates. I couldn’t see any posters or placards. The train trundled on. I got off
at my station. I stood on the skywalk, looking at either side. On one side
there was Jamia, and the other had GK and Nehru Place. I wondered what it took
to participate in protests, be one with the crowd, chant slogans, make yourself
heard. I thought - nothing will change. I remembered the blanket of fog. It
made me feel small, insignificant, helpless. It engulfed everything without
giving anyone an option. I began walking towards the office. There was a Christmas
party planned today.
